The Blood on His Cheek (tag for If It Bleeds, It Leads)
by ForsetiPurge
Summary: 5x7. Set the next day after Kirkland warned Lisbon off Volker. It's up to Jane to save his most loyal friend from ending up the way he did. Expect a little violence, a little language, and a little cold dark truth. As always, the story is better than the summary.


NOTE: Not that it means anything, but special credit I reserve to writer extraordinaire David Simon for pointing out the misperception everyone has about homicide detectives. The penultimate two paragraphs are based on his interview in salon: "What drugs have not destroyed, the war on them has." Oh, and the Mentalist is not mine. I only own the story, such as it is. Be mindful of the language Lisbon uses; I write it as though the show were in the cable, not network.

SACRAMENTO

Teresa Lisbon came out the Director's room. She pulled the door close gently, but anyone seeing her face would know she was a hair-breadth close to slamming it until the hinges broke. Since yesterday, a permanent scowl had twisted her lips, and her eyes had been continuously frowning. Now her ears could have been blowing steam. She didn't even seem to see that Patrick Jane had been waiting for her beside the door.

Jane wasn't a fanatic about women's looks, but he felt hurt to see her like this. He approached her.

"Lisbon."

She glanced, didn't stop. "Jane."

"How did it go with Bertram?" The Director.

"What do you care now?"

"Lisbon, you said it yourself, we are family, I can't—"

"Yes you can. And you did. When I needed you the most, you—"

"Weren't there, I'm so sorry—"

"All the sorries in the world won't bring Amanda back, do you understand that?"

"Yes, I do."

Jane was silent. Lisbon was silent. They walked side to side, their eyes straight ahead, their mouths screwed shut. Teenagers too proud to confess. Like this, they were out of the building, headed to the parking lot, about to enter Lisbon's car. And then Jane stepped forward and turned and blocked Lisbon from the door.

She punched him in his cheek.

"Fuck!" Lisbon doubled down as Jane did. Knuckles are extremely delicate, despite what Hollywood likes to pretend, and human head has the hardest bone for protection. "Fuck!" Jane stepped back up, wiping the blood in his cheek, but otherwise steady as a rock. He kept his eyes on hers.

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

Jane said nothing.

Lisbon punched him in the other cheek. This time he must deflect it a bit.

"Get the fuck away."

"Don't stop. I'm a man."

"What the fuck do you mean, you're a man?" She stepped aside and Jane followed it. " Let me go. I'm headed back to the office, and you get the fuck away from me."

"Not until you're satisfied."

"I won't be."

Jane waited.

"I won't, I can't."

She shook.

"Lisbon. Look at me. Look at my eyes."

She did. Her eyes were blinking furiously, her teeth screeching, her breath fast and hard. She was about to cry, but of course she wouldn't. She was Teresa Lisbon. The boss.

"Hurt me as you like," Jane said. "You've got the right. But don't do it to yourself. Please."

"No, I—"

"Yes, you." More softly: "What did Bertram say?"

"He said Kirkland was right. I must stand down. Volker will never see my face again."

"A restraining order."

"Yes." She spit to her side. "Cunt."

"What's your plan?"

"My plan? I'll bring Volker to justice. I'll dig up every file every law enforcement agency in every state in America—"

"Without Bertram's permission?"

"Fuck Bertram!"

She turned to punch the car's window, but Jane held her hand. "Lisbon, you really don't get it, do you? Bertram is only doing his job. Obstructive bureaucrat he is. But a rogue state police is of no use to anyone. She's friendless."

"I don't need a friend."

"Yes, you do."

"Don't tell me what I need." She broke off Jane's hand.

"What do you need?"

"I need justice. Justice for Amanda, and for all the victims of Volker—"

Lisbon ranted on. Jane let her. For all his sins she'd covered she deserved to be taking this out on him. She was a friend, _his _friend, his best and only friend. His savior.

"Yes, I understand," Jane said when she finished. "I know you want to catch him. And I know you're not afraid of him, I get that right?"

"Yes."

"All right. But the same is true for Volker. He is not afraid of you. He is not afraid of the law, the police, justice. A man like that is deadly. I get this one right?"

"Yes." Her breath steadied.

"Volker has to get down, but you have to be patient. No rush. You move to quickly, you'll die. One less good person in this world."

She nodded.

"Okay. Now let's get back to the HQ. Make a plan. A real plan. Our team, your team, they'll watch your back. But only if you know what you're doing."

Another nod. The scowl and the frown had faded. The animal was tamed back in its cage.

Jane stepped aside, and Lisbon stepped into her car. Before she closed the door, he reached her hand again, squeezed it. Just one last warning for her.

"What?"

"Don't end up like me."

She said nothing.

"Please. It's enough that I'm the only one who's ended up like this. Promise."

"Promise."

He let go. She closed the door, a smile on her face.

But even as Lisbon took off, soot-like steam finally out of her skin, Jane knew she still wasn't true to herself. She was wishing she could scream that her sense of duty and honor wouldn't let go of Volker. And those fine words were indeed part of the reason. But only part. The other part, the one everyone was wrong about, from Hollywood producers to fanfiction writers, was the one that truly drove her this time.

Jane sighed. He walked back to his car, drove back to the CBI Headquarters. Lisbon couldn't be alone for the next few days. He had to prepare her team to watch out for her before she could do the mistakes only he was stupid enough to do.

Before the other part could reclaim her.

He knew what that part was. It was simple. Simpler, and darker than any word she'd said to him. Law abiding citizens anywhere would tell him that Teresa Lisbon was motivated by justice, just like any good homicide detective is meant to be, and that when she lifted the blanket she would say, "Jesus, what a waste." They believed she cared that the world got better, and therefore she policed.

Wrong. Real cops aren't like that. _Lisbon_ wasn't like that. If she was she would have fired Jane from long time ago. The truth as he knew it was something far more mundane and more sinister.

Teresa Lisbon hated losing.

_This fucker did this murder, I caught it, and he thinks he's fucking better than me. Fuck him. He's about to find out._

"You go girl," Jane said to himself.

Hell hath no fury like detective outsmarted.


End file.
